"No," replied Sylvester, "he never shows up on Sat.u.r.days."

"Who is going to report the town meeting?" continued Quincy.

"I am," answered Sylvester. "The editor will be on hand, but he told me yesterday that he should depend on me to write the meeting up, because he had a little political work to attend to that would take all his time. He told me he was going over to see 'Bias Smith on Sunday, so I imagine that Mr. Smith and he are interested on the same side."

"Well, Mr. Chisholm," said Quincy, "you managed that little matter about Miss Mason's engagement so neatly that I have something for you to do for me. I'm going to Boston this afternoon, and shall not be back until half-past seven Monday night. I'm going over to see Mr. Parsons when I leave here, and shall arrange with him to supply all our boys with all they want to eat and drink next Monday."

"Well, the boys, as you call them, will be pretty apt to be hungry and thirsty next Monday," laughed Sylvester.

"That's all right," said Quincy, "I'll stand the bills."

"How's Parsons going to know which are our boys?" continued Chisholm.

"They ought to have some kind of badge or some kind of a pa.s.sword, or your enemies, as well as your friends, will be eating up your provisions."

"That's what I want you to attend to," added Quincy. "I'll arrange with Parsons that if anybody gives him the letters B D on the quiet, he is to consider that they are on our side, and mustn't take any money from them, but chalk it up on my score. Now, I depend upon you, Mr. Chisholm, to give the pa.s.sword to the faithful, and to pay you for your time and trouble just take this."

And he pa.s.sed a twenty-dollar bill to Sylvester. The latter drew back.

"No, Mr. Sawyer," said he, "I cannot take any money for that service.

This work is to be done, for I understand the whole business, to defeat the man who, I think, has treated my sister in a very mean manner, and I'm willing to work all day and all night without any pay to knock that fellow out. Let's put it that way,--I'm working against him, and not for you; and, looking at it that way, of course, there's no reason why you should pay me anything."

"All right," rejoined Quincy, "I should have no feeling if you took the money, but I can appreciate your sentiments, and will have no feeling because you do not take it. One of these days I may be able to do as great a service for you, as you are willing to do for me between now and next Monday."

They shook hands and parted, and Quincy made his way to the Eagle Hotel, of which Mr. Seth Parsons was the proprietor. Mr. Parsons greeted him heartily and invited him into his private room. Here Quincy told the arrangement that he had made with young Chisholm, and gave him the pa.s.sword.

"Don't stint them," said Quincy, "let them have a good time; but don't let anybody know who pays for it. I shall be down on the half-past seven express, Monday night, and I would like to have a nice little dinner for eight or nine people ready in your private dining-room at eight o'clock.

Mr. Tobias Smith knows who my guests are to be, and if I am delayed from any cause, he will tell you who are ent.i.tled to go in and eat the dinner."

The next train to Boston was due in ten minutes, and shaking hands with the hotel proprietor, he made his way quickly to the station. As he reached the platform he noticed that Abner Stiles was just driving away; the thought flashed through his mind that somebody from Mason's Corner was going to the city; but that was no uncommon event, and the thought pa.s.sed from him.

He entered the car, and, to his surprise, found that it was filled; every seat in sight was taken. He walked forward and espied a seat near the farther end of the car. He noticed that a lady sat near the window; when he reached it he raised his hat, and leaning forward, said politely, "Is this seat taken?"

"No, sir," replied a pleasant, but somewhat sad voice, and he sank into the seat without further thought as to its other occupant.

When they reached the first station beyond Eastborough Centre he glanced out of the window, and as he did so, noticed that his companion was Miss Lindy Putnam.

"Why, Miss Putnam," cried he, turning towards her, "how could I be so ungallant as not to recognize you?"

"Well," replied Lindy, "perhaps it's just as well that you didn't; my thoughts were not very pleasant, and I should not have been a very entertaining companion."

"More trouble at home?" he inquired in a low voice.

"Yes," answered Lindy, in a choked voice, "since Mr. Putnam died it has been worse than ever. While he lived she had him to talk to; but now she insists on talking to me, and sends for me several times a day, ostensibly to do something for her, but really simply to get me in the room so she can talk over the old, old story, and say spiteful and hateful things to me. May Heaven pardon me for saying so, Mr. Sawyer, but I am thankful that it's nearly at an end."

"Why, what do you mean," asked Quincy, "is she worse?"

"Yes," said Lindy, "she is failing very rapidly physically, but her voice and mental powers are as strong as ever; in fact, I think she is more acute in her mind and sharper in her words than she has ever been before. Dr. Budd ordered some medicine that I could not get at the Centre, and so there was no way for me except to go to the city for it.

Let me tell you now, Mr. Sawyer, something that I should have been obliged to write to you, if I had not seen you. I shall stay with Mrs.

Putnam until she dies, for I promised Jones that I would, and I could never break any promise that I made to him; but the very moment that she's dead I shall leave the house and the town forever!"

"Shall you not stay to the funeral?" said Quincy; "what will the townspeople say?"

"I don't care what they say," rejoined Lindy, in a sharp tone; "she is not my mother, and I will not stay to the funeral and hypocritically mourn over her, when in my secret heart I shall be glad she is dead."

"Those are harsh words," said Quincy.

"Not one-tenth nor one-hundredth as harsh and unfeeling as those she has used to me," said Lindy. "No, my mind is made up; my trunks are all packed, and she will not be able to lock me in my room this time. I shall leave town by the first train after her death, and Eastborough will never see me nor hear from me again."

"But how about your friends," asked Quincy, "supposing that I should find out something that would be of interest to you; supposing that I should get some information that might lead to the discovery of your real parents, how could I find you?"

"Well," replied Lindy, "if you will give me your promise that you will not disclose to any one what I am going to say, I will tell you how to find me."

"You have my word," replied Quincy.

"Well," answered Lindy, "I'm going to New York! I would tell you where, but I don't know. But if you wish to find me at any time advertise in the Personal Column of the 'New York Herald'; address it to Linda, and sign it Eastborough," said she, after a moment's thought. "I shall drop the name of Putnam when I arrive in New York, but what name I shall take I have not yet decided upon; it will depend upon circ.u.mstances. But I shall have the 'New York Herald' every day, and if you advertise for me I shall be sure to see it."

She then relapsed into silence, and Quincy forbore to speak any more, as he saw she was busy with her own thoughts. They soon reached the city and parted at the door of the station. She gave him her hand, and as he held it in his for a moment, he said, "Good-by, Miss Linda." She thanked him for not saying "Miss Putnam" with a glance of her eyes. "I may not see you again, but you may depend upon me. If I hear of anything that will help you in your search for your parents, my time shall be given to the matter, and I will communicate with you at the earliest moment.

Good-by."

He raised his hat and they parted.

Town Meeting Day proved to be a bright and pleasant one. At nine o'clock the Town Hall was filled with the citizens of Eastborough. They had come from the Centre, they had come from West Eastborough and from Mason's Corner. There were very nearly four hundred gathered upon the floor, the majority of them being h.o.r.n.y-handed sons of toil, or, more properly speaking, independent New England farmers.

When Jeremiah Spinney, the oldest man in town, who had reached the age of ninety-two, and who declared that he hadn't "missed a town meetin'

for seventy year," called the meeting to order, a hush fell upon the a.s.semblage. In a cracked, but still distinct voice, he called for a nomination for Moderator of the meeting. Abraham Mason's name, of Mason's Corner, was the only one presented. The choice was by acclamation; for it was acknowledged on all sides that Deacon Mason was as square a man as there was in town.

The newly-elected Moderator took the chair and called upon the clerk to read the warrant for the meeting. This was soon done, and the transaction of the town's business begun in earnest. It will be, of course, impossible and unnecessary to give a complete and connected account of all that took place in town meeting on that day. For such an account the trader is referred to the columns of the "Eastborough Express," for it was afterwards acknowledged on all sides that the account of the meeting written by Mr. Sylvester Chisholm was the most graphic and comprehensive that had ever appeared in that paper. We have to do only with those items in the warrant that related directly or indirectly to those residents of the town with whom we are interested.

When the question of appropriating a certain sum for the support of the town Almshouse was reached, Obadiah Strout sprang to his feet and called out, "Mister Moderator," in a loud voice. He was recognized, and addressed the chair as follows:

"Mister Moderator, before a vote is taken on the questions of appropriatin' for the support of the town poor, I wish to call the attention of my fellow-citizens to a matter that has come to my knowledge durin' the past year. A short time ago a man who had been a town charge for more than three years, and whose funeral expenses were paid by the town, was discovered by me to be the only brother of a man livin' in Boston, who is said to be worth a million dollars. A very strange circ.u.mstance was that the son of this wealthy man, and a nephew of this town pauper, has been livin' in this town for several months, and spendin' his money in every way that he could think of to attract attention, but it never occurred to him that he could have used his money to better advantage if he had taken some of it and paid it to the town for takin' care of his uncle. These facts are well known to many of us here, and I move that a ballot--"

Tobias Smith had been fidgeting uneasily in his seat while Strout was speaking, and when he mentioned the word "ballot," he could restrain himself no longer, but jumped to Bids feet and called out in his stentorian voice, "Mister Moderator, I rise to a question of privilege."

"I have the floor," shouted Strout, "and I wish to finish my remarks.

This is only an attempt of the opposition to shut me off. I demand to be heard!"

"Mister Moderator," screamed Abner Stiles, "I move that Mr. Strout be allowed to continue without further interruption."

The Moderator brought his gavel down on the table and called out, "Order, order." Then turning to Tobias, he said, "Mr. Smith, state your question of privilege."

Strout sank into his seat, his face livid with pa.s.sion; turning to Stiles, he said, "This is all cooked up between 'em. You know you told me you saw Smith and Stackpole and that city chap drivin' away from the Deacon's house last Sat.u.r.day mornin'."

Stiles nodded his head and said, "I guess you're right."

Mr. Smith continued, "My question of privilege, Mister Moderator, is this: I desire to present it now, because when I've stated it, my fellow citizen," turning to Strout, "will find that it's unnecessary to make any motion in relation to the matter to which he has referred. I hold in my hand a letter from Mr. Quincy Adams Sawyer, whose father is the Hon.

Nathaniel Sawyer of Boston, and whose uncle was Mr. James Sawyer, who died in the Eastborough Poorhouse several weeks ago. By conference with Mr. Waters, who is in charge of the Poorhouse, and with the Town Treasurer, he ascertained that the total expense to which the town of Eastborough has been put for the care of his uncle was four hundred and sixty-eight dollars and seventy-two cents. I hold his check for that sum, drawn to the order of the Town Treasurer, and certified to be good by the cashier of the Eastborough National Bank. He has requested me to offer this check to the town, and that a receipt for the same be given by the Town Treasurer."

Strout jumped to his feet.